Get all 6 One Finite Monkey releases available on Bandcamp and save 40%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Reality and the Dream, Visions With Revisions, reinventing of the wheel, Bread From These Stones, As IF, and Inside Joke.
1. |
Hold On
04:00
|
|||
|
The nights are long, but the days are longer
and weeks pass in the blink of an eye.
If I had a song that could make you stronger
I’d sing it all of the time.
Hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on.
In the spring, we would long for summer
and in the summer we’d hope for fall.
When this thing turns into another winter,
we may look back on it all.
Hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on.
When outwardly, we seem to be wasting away
inwardly, we have hope to see renewal
day by day, with our eyes fixed on things unseen.
These days may look better when they’re passed.
The nights are long, but the days are longer
and weeks pass in the blink of an eye.
If I had a song that could make you stronger
I’d sing it all of the time.
Hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on.
|
||||
2. |
Black Wings
03:48
|
|||
|
Left the crossroads, walked the rail
on desert lands, on hellhound trails
shedding layered layers of skin
like a serpent or an onion.
Suspicion: there’s nothing deep inside,
a snake oil soul, almost alive
waking days, walk in sin
another step from the garden,
oh, black wing
oh, black wings.
Sent away from home and land
became as drugged and cannot stand
hearing voices spouting verse,
a savior’s name used as a curse;
to paraphrase: propaganda from the pews,
but who stood by those who’d been accused?
Oh, black wing
Oh, black wings.
One for sorrow, two for joy,
three for a girl and four for a boy,
five for silver, sex for gold,
seven for a story, seven for a story
It’s been too long without rain,
throwing bones for laying blame.
Lay the stones, kill the cow,
find out who’s not praying now;
History: Jezebel on the throne
and Elijah stands there all alone.
Oh, black wing
Oh, black wings.
Oh, black wing
Oh, black wings.
|
||||
3. |
Rome Burns
04:54
|
|||
|
I was watching wrestling on TV (It’s entertaining and it’s free)
when for a second, I thought I saw a chariot race, then I blinked and it was gone.
Then I was watching the president speak (he’s been on every night this week)
when for a second I thought I heard him speak in Latin as if to me alone.
And Rome burns. I was playing my guitar.
While Rome burns I was playing my guitar.
I was playing my guitar
while Rome burns.
I met this guy named Virgil in a New Age book store working on the bio of Washington in the style of Homer. He said there are no heroes anymore. And it made sense. So, I walked down the block and everything looked like a sixties protest song. Someone quoted Sophocles, but people passed him by to browse a video store for a porno flick to buy or rent. (chorus)
And they say they’ve found the Virgin Mary made of mostly toast.
I’ve been face to face with Jesus, but you won’t hear me boast.
I had questions just to ask. I don’t remember what he said
when the way where we were walking went up like Armageddon.
And Rome burns. Rome burns. (chorus)
Now, where I live the gym is like the public bath. People will say whatever you believe is cool, but we reserve the right to crucify the dissidents on Internet spikes (that will hurt like hell). Nero smoked his Havanas outside Java Joes. He’s been talking about burning down the town, “It doesn’t matter who we find to blame, kid; we’ll rebuild in your image, just as well.” (chorus)
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
If the Devil is in the details, God is in intentions,
divine revelations: ordinary things.
When the Devil is working retail, God makes his projections:
honorable mentions for philosophers and kings.
These latter days, what’s been said has been said.
These latter days, come what may, we’ve made our beds.
The Devil, he’s making phone calls ‘cause he has the connections.
God, he takes collections, does a grass roots thing.
The Devil, he seeks a patron, he’s trademarked the name Satan,
sure God gets compensation when folk take His name in vain
and I have lived life between what’s wrong and what’s right.
These latter days. What can I say? What can I say?
These latter days, what’s been said has been said.
These latter days, come what may, we’ve made our beds.
And I have lived life between what’s wrong and what’s right.
These latter days. What can I say? What can I say?
God, He is omniscient. The Devil went to Georgia.
He’s got a house in Florida, but he wants everything.
|
||||
5. |
Blue Sky
03:41
|
|||
|
Early morning freeway: herd of cattle.
Early morning freeway: herd of cattle.
I jump in, death-cough and rattle,
another way to die.
I only wish I could see blue sky.
Pasadena friend: a couch to sleep on.
Pasadena friend: a couch to sleep on.
Always stressed, his wife’s a mean one
and I don’t know why
I only wish I could see blue sky.
All my L.A. friends have what they do on the side.
All my L.A. friends can list the dreams that have died
they’ve all been denied.
Every L.A. sunset brown and hazy,
every L.A. sunset brown and hazy,
two parts scum and one part crazy.
Another way to die.
I only wish I could see blue sky.
All my L.A. friends have what they do on the side.
All my L.A. friends can list the dreams that have died
I’ve been along for the ride.
Every morning freeway: herd of cattle.
Early morning freeway: herd of cattle.
I jump in, death-cough ant rattle,
another way to die.
I only wish I could see blue sky.
I miss it and I can’t say why.
I only wish I could see blue sky.
|
||||
6. |
||||
|
When I was still learning the black keys, Bob was out banging a gong,
“This world, it needs no more poets! This world, it needs no more songs!”
Poets won’t go the market, poets cannot drive cars,
poets won’t serve on the PTA; they’ll tell you that’s going too far.
You could send 100 old records to each man and woman and kid
and most of the songs could just be ignored; there’d be no great loss if they did.
Poets live by their own code so we can spot all the fakes.
Poets live off the land, they’re the ones who are dying in lakes.
I was rubbing two chords together and trying to force words to rhyme,
trying to hum in the right tune, trying to play it in time
and Bob would walk through the graveyard and not smell the decay
of a poet who died in the gutter, of a song in the alleyway.
|
||||
7. |
Lazarus
03:38
|
|||
|
So, bit by bit, piece by piece, we are falling away, losing our way.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, we are falling away.
Once we were close, Lazarus, now we’re so far away, a beggar or a slave.
Once we were close, Lazarus, now we’re so far away.
The dead will rise, rocks shall speak, and I’ll have nothing to say, nothing to say.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, we are falling away.
We are falling away, we are falling away, we are falling away.
Bit by bit, piece by piece,
bit by bit, piece by piece.
we are falling, we are falling
we are falling away.
|
||||
8. |
Shadow People
07:38
|
|||
|
I live in peripheral vision. I haunt the corner of your eye.
Like a shadow dodges a candle, I am a dark spot in your mind.
If you try, you can forget me. I disappear when you close your eyes.
And I’m sure you see right through me, but you know that you can’t hide.
I am shadow people. I live between the lines
like a shadow dodges a candle. I am a dark spot in your life.
And the freeway sounds like forever. You can smell twilight like a rose.
Will we inherit the thunder when we have nowhere to call home?
We are a shadow people. We live between the lines
like a shadow dodges a candle. I an a dark spot in your life.
You will rip pages from our story. You will crop us from your times.
But we are a forever people and we live between the lines.
We are a shadow people. We live between the lines
like a shadow dodges a candle. I am a dark spot in your life.
We are a shadow people. We live between the lines
like a shadow dodges a candle. I am a dark spot in your life
|
||||
9. |
Wisdom Like A Sigh
05:06
|
|||
|
You stay like leaving, wisdom like a sigh.
Your comfort comes in grieving like a stone.
A swaddled shroud tries, tries to blink an eye.
All rivers run dilute, a “yes” slows, dies.
And stagnant waters smile and frown like bones.
You stay like leaving, wisdom like a sigh.
A silent statue shivers, or is it like a fly
who tries to fly his dot across the stone?
A swaddled shroud tries, tries to blink an eye.
Birds, dusky birds, who in their pyres lie,
dream yellow, red, and green before them gone.
You stay like leaving, wisdom like a sigh.
An ashen phoenix somehow may yet fly
and gray-black worms shall feed on other loam.
A swaddled shroud tries, tries to blink an eye.
We communicate with distant cries,
distant echoes come back alone
like a swaddled shroud who tries to blink an eye,
you stay like leaving, wisdom like a sigh.
Wisdom like a sigh.
|
||||
10. |
Prior To The Serenade
06:20
|
|||
|
Will you follow me through a winter night
to find repast by candlelight
while watching stars crinkling on
endless waves through the glass?
We could ride the strings of a slow refrain
and talk of places that we’ve been;
perhaps we’ll get a chance again.
Perhaps we’ll get a chance.
While the women come and go
talking of Michelangelo.
Yeah, so they found my head upon a platter
though I am no prophet and we were laughing later.
Was it mockery or jest I sensed
in your hesitant yes?
So when we meet again in the place agreed
and move on at our chosen speed,
my discourse then a nervous screed
while you affect tableau
while the women come and go
talking of Michelangelo.
Still there’s time for indecision.
I have visions with revisions,
a time to ask some 100 times
do I dare?
The winter air turns somehow summer
when the way you move, much like another,
makes me feel all out of sync
so I don’t understand.
Though I know your heart, I don’t know mine
on harbor walks where there’s still time
for arguments internalized
while feeling the void around your hand.
While the women come and go
talking of Michelangelo.
Still there’s time for indecision.
I have visions with revisions,
a time to ask some 100 times
do I dare?
Still there’s time for indecision.
I have visions with revisions.
But I know the way to say what’s true…
Will you follow me through a quiet lane,
through marble walks and old refrains
mingled with the tears of evening
that linger in pools, stand in drains?
A hundred faces come to hear our voice
but still there’s time to review a choice
like petals on a wet, wet log
or flowers lost from a train.
While the women come and go
talking of Michelangelo.
Still there’s time for indecision.
I have visions with revisions,
a time to ask some 100 times
do I dare?
Still there’s time for indecision.
I have visions with revisions.
But I know the way to say what’s true…
So, here I stand, what should I say
prior to the serenade
to claim some pyrrhic victory
for my heart outside your door?
Will you follow me through a winter night
to take part in some ancient rite
or think of me as some crawling thing
that lives beneath your floor?
|
||||
11. |
Hold On, St. Catherine
06:11
|
|||
|
Hold on St. Catherine, something’s not quite right.
I was pulled in all directions. Where were you last night?
Not sure when to expect you, I went look for a clock.
I was looking at the time, when all the hands went stop.
Oh, hold on St. Catherine, how do you think it feels
when you’re brandished like a hammer, been a cog in a wheel,
been packed in like an ice cube, been spun ‘round like a top?
I’ve been pulled in all directions. When’s it going to stop?
Hold on St. Catherine, hear me when I say
I expect that through it all, you wanted it this way.
Did you listen to your mother on that faithful day
when you shook the hands of angels and learned how to pray?
Hold on St. Catherine, can you tell me how to feel?
My only clock is broken. My car is spinning wheels.
If you’re still keen to find me, if you need something to bless,
I’ll be on the roller coaster; that’s where I’m headed next.
Hold on St. Catherine, tell me won’t you linger?
I only wanted healing, but then you broke your fingers
and you headed to the desert, moving in a rush,
looking for a mountain with some kind of burning bush.
Hold on St. Catherine, try not to lose your head.
You spurned an emperor, found Joan of Arc instead.
Me, I’m spinning wheels. You’ll find me here in town
at the Ferris Wheel or merry-go-round.
|
||||
12. |
Air
02:48
|
|||
|
I know I don’t have much to offer.
All I have is used and old,
wrapped up against the weather,
preserved from frost and cold.
I know I don’t have much to offer,
only a springtime in the fall,
a hint of eternity come to come someday,
a love to last forever, that’s all.
If you lose the beat, I’ll still keep the time.
If you forget the words, I’ll supply the rhyme.
If you lose your breath, let me loan you air, yeah.
If you lose it all, I’ll still have love to share.
I know I don’t have much to offer,
like a magician and his hare
what is there after the last candle burns away?
A bit of luck and love to share.
A bit of luck and love to share.
|
||||
One Finite Monkey Bellingham, Washington
One Finite Monkey: a veteran of a dozen bands you’ve never heard of, a player of a dozen instruments, a producer of
something like 50 obscure albums, now holed up in the attic of an old house in Bellingham, Washington, writing and recording songs.
For fans of Jerry Garcia, Neil Young, Violent Femmes, Tom Waits, Richard Thompson, and Mark Knopfler.
... more
One Finite Monkey recommends:
Tingujt e Zemrës
by Shtëpia Records
This is a very special recording for me, as I played doula in the composition of these songs. My friend Aaron produced the recordings.
go to album
Drowning Out Love
by Late Tuesday
Late Tuesday hasn't played together years. I get to play with one of them from time to time and it's always a great time.
go to album
Another B'ham band. I know Nick personally. We sometimes play together.
go to albumIf you like One Finite Monkey, you may also like:
A riveting jam session from Pittsburgh, Pa. folk band Wisbands, who infuse classic Americana with jazz and psychedelic rock.
go to album
if no one else cares, why should I care?
by Good Good Blood
Pairing lo-fi indie rock with silvery folk instrumentation, the self-described "bedroom pop wizard" casts a cozy, poignant spell.
go to album
Falando Nisso
by Valentim Frateschi
featured on Bandcamp Radio Aug 8, 2023
go to album
